A Comedy of Errors
by Psychobilly
Summary: A violent gangwar takes to the streets of Gotham. Scarecrow, the Joker and a drug hustler find themselves caught up in a search for the identity of the murderous vigilante behind it all - the only clues lying in the works of William Shakespeare.
1. I

_A rival crime family of the Maroni's has moved into the city of Gotham. In a desperate act to monopolize the last of the city's junkies' after the Batman has left almost no one left to buy from, Maroni has brought from overseas, a skilled hustler from the Eastern European mafia, the Blindfold Ivan's. The Cosa Nostra has formed a reluctant truce with the Joker and Scarecrow._

_But after an associate to the Maroni family is found brutally murdered, a violent gang war breaks out in the streets of Gotham. But as the death toll rises, both the police and the crime syndicate have no clue as to who the killer is - except for his gruesome murders, implicative of the plays of William Shakespeare._

_The Joker, Scarecrow and the hustler are determinded to get to the bottom of it before the killer gets them - while Scarecrow tries to keep a pesky third string reporter from getting too much information._

* * *

For whatever reason, the lights in Little Azerbaijan seemed to exist only to accentuate the shadows. The old brick buildings' folded in on the narrow backstreet like the high and narrow walls of a cathedral. A slithering sound made the Bulgarian shriek and reach for her handy form of self defence - a hot glue gun.

The Bulgarian continued to chew her gum, though with an ever increasing sense of trepidation, until she had assured herself that it was only a cat, a rain stick, the wind.

_That's definitely the sound wind makes_, the Bulgarian told herself. She took one last glance around before continuing down the alley until the faded bronze numbers she was looking for were found.

To the outside world, the building probably didn't look like much. It was a non-descript, five story brick building in the inner city, much like every other building on the block, or in any other city for that matter. The Bulgarian imagined it had once been an office of some sorts at the turn of the century, judging from the weathered texture and colour of the brick. She imagined the office had once belonged to a European immigrant, who ran a successful business as perhaps a butcher, a tailor, or a restaurant owner. But as the city expanded and big business moved in, the European would have had no choice but to shut down and return to Europe, where he would once again have to stand in line for a piece of bread. The thought made the Bulgarian sad.

But what the building lacked in cosmetic appeal was offset by the patrons' ability to militate themselves.

Which brings us to why the Bulgarian was at this particular building.

Approaching a heavy door emblazoned with a sign saying, _ Employees only - Violators will be prosecuted,_ the Bulgarian took one last glance around before giving the door three good knocks. A giant of a man, dressed in a fine pine stripe suit answered. From inside, the Bulgarian heard a **crash!** and then a swift **crunch!** overlapping the trance music, which was going on about "connecting like Tetris".

"Name?" the man asked.

The Bulgarian racked her brain in an effort to remember what that word meant. She was saved however, when a man who looked like a tanned, leathery Jack Palance came up and greeted her with a warm smile and rapid Bulgarian pleasantries.

"Don't worry, Gambol," the man told the bouncer. "She's an old friend." The Bulgarian was promptly whisked inside where the only source of light here was from a strobe light and the glow of the ghastly black light murals decorating the walls. The patrons were splattered with neon shades of white, green, pink, teal and every other neon equivalent of the colours imaginable. Even the Bulgarians' usual robins' egg coloured hair was now glowing a bright shade of purple. Two men who were both splattered with radiant green paint were brawling on a thin metal suspension; it reminded the Bulgarian of _Fight Club._

"How have you been, darling?" the man asked the Bulgarian in her native tongue.

"Good," she replied. "I'm very excited to have come to America."

"And the rest of the Ivan's?" the man asked. "No, never mind. Save it for Maroni."

The Bulgarian chortled. "The rest of the family is doing well. We've started expanding into the northern parts of Japan, you know, by the Russian border."

"Good to hear," the man said as he led the Bulgarian up a spiral metal staircase that led to a large and private patio of sorts above all the action. A long table was set up with about twenty other men; capos, soldiers, the consigliore, the Bulgarian assumed was who they were. They were tightly packed around the table, some gambling over the betted winner of the current brawl going on down below. Some were playing King's Cup. The exception was to a man, whose face was obscured by his popped collar. His feet were up on the table. He wasn't talking or moving. He was sleeping, or at least it looked that way to the Bulgarian. But how anyone could sleep through this ruckus, escaped her.

The man who accompanied the Bulgarian was whisked away by some of the men betting over the fight below. The Bulgarian was left standing alone for a brief moment, before she was flanked by a much tanner, yet wholesomely handsome man with salt & pepper hair.

"Tatiana," the man grinned as he reached out for a hug. "Haven't seen you in ages. How've you been? Is that new hair? Must be, last time I saw you it was pink," he chuckled.

"_Kolko mi lipsvash,_ Maroni," the Bulgarian answered. The man known as Maroni gestured to a chair positioned next to a slick-looking Sicilian.

"You can tell me all about the Ivan's when we get started here," Maroni told the Bulgarian, who simply drew a blank. Maroni then chuckled. "You have no idea what I'm saying, do you? Language was never my strong point. Thank God for Stanislav though, huh?" he laughed. Stanislav returned to the Bulgarian known as Tatiana before whispering in her ear. She giggled.

Maroni took his seat as the Boss at the head of the table. Stanislav was crouched beside the Bulgarian, and as Maroni started off on his little schpiel, Stanislav would whisper a quick translation into the Bulgarians' ear.

Maroni paused mid-sentence however and let out an irritated sigh. His eyes rolled towards the sleeping character. "Joker," he asked firmly, "are you listening?"

"Nope," was the characters' reply from behind his collar.

"Well, this concerns all of us."

"Alright," the character said, slightly adjusting his head. The fellow on his right, a sculpted man with dark hair and thin glasses that sat upon his high cheekbones gave his friend a firm smack on the shoulder. The character, in a startled movement, grabbed a pencil in front of him with one hand while the other gripped the other mans' collar, the sharpened pencil held offensively close to his head. There was a moment of tension and then a collective sigh as the character lowered the pencil and let go of the man with the glasses.

But what struck the Bulgarian immediately about the character was his makeup, or war paint or whatever it was supposed to be; but then again, it wasn't as if it was particularly difficult to miss. The glowing white base, cracked roughly and caked into fine lines was like a beacon in the sea of only bright splatterings. His eyes were carelessly smudged with black, which made him look like a panda bear. His lips were painted with red in the grizzly shape of a Chelsea Grin. The Bulgarian wondered what he could possibly be hiding under all that makeup.

"Now then," Maroni said, "now that that's been settled, I'd like to introduce our new associate." He gave a cordial gesture towards the Bulgarian, seated near the opposite end of the table. "This is Tatiana Antonov. She's from Bulgaria, and for the last, oh, eight or so years, she's been working for the Blindfold Ivan's".

"What does she do?" asked a Chechen.

"She's a hustler," Maroni answered. "The fake hair doesn't pay for itself. You name it, she's got it. She was one of the top earners for the Ivan's in Bulgaria."

"What's with the er, little man whispering in her ear over there?" the character asked.

Maroni sighed as he swivelled his chair from side to side. "Stanislav is acting as her translator until she learns English."

Most men at the table grew wide eyes at that comment. There was one indignant comment asking, "Why the fuck did you hire a bitch who can't even speak our language? And you expect her to make _money _for us?!" However, to the character known as "Joker", his eyes lit up. "You mean, she can't understand a single word we're saying?"

"Yes," Maroni answered reluctantly. Joker turned to the Bulgarian.

"Shit. Piss. Fuck. Cunt. Cocksucker. Motherfucker. Tits. Asshole. AIDS. Rape. Fag." The Bulgarian was whispering to Stanislav, so the Joker had to yell at the Bulgarian to get her attention. She looked benignly at him as he grinned a devilish grin and said to her,

"You're a slut. You simply reek of chlamydia. "

"Joker, don't," his friend said to him in a low voice.

Joker scoffed. "Oh please, what is she gunna do? Strangle me with her fake hair?"

"She has a glue gun," Stanislav said. The men gibed.

"A hot glue gun."

"Please, can we get back on track, fella's?" Maroni barked. The men wisely turned their attention back to him as he composed himself. "Now, as I've already mentioned, Tatiana here is from the Blindfold Ivan's and in answer to your inquiries regarding her abilities in a new country; I wouldn't have had her brought here if I wasn't sure that she could contribute to the Family. My hope is that with her here, we can monopolize on, particularly the cities' junkies, after the Batman has left almost no one to buy from. Which means more money for us and less for the small timers and, of course - the Padovanni's," he growled. A grumble rose from the men.

"Those god-damned Padovanni's have been in this city for too long. They're nothing but a bunch of small-time punks who got too big for their britches. They need a good swift kick-in-the-ass back to Pickering- or whatever other Canadian hick town they come from."

"And how exactly do you propose we do that?" the Chechen asked.

"My consigliore and I are in talks with what remains of the Falcone family, who also want the Padovanni's taken out of the picture. Our short-term hope is that they'll get clumsy and be caught by the Batman and the Commissioner. Our long-term hope is that we can just murder the sons-of-bitches and be done with it." The men rolled their eyes with doubt.

"I know it doesn't sound like best plan, but we're still in the works," Maroni said assuringly. "Trust me, boys. Have I ever let you down before? I'll call up our friends in Chicago; see if we can get a couple soldiers down here."

"And until then?" the Chechen asked.

"We'll just keep doing what we do best. Dr. Crane," Maroni said, turning his attention to the bespectacled man sitting beside Joker. "I understand you've been working on a variant of your fear hallucinogen, one that the Batman isn't immune to."

"That's right, sir," the man known as Dr. Crane replied. "I'm also working to see if I can keep it in a crystallized form for easier means of transport."

"Good. As soon as you're done, I want to be the first to know. Not a Capo, me."

Dr. Crane nodded.

"Joker," Maroni hollered at the man with the clown makeup, who turned to Maroni in an amiable manner. "Don't bring any attention to yourself," Maroni said firmly.

"I'll try, but I can't promise anything."

"Stanislav, I want you and Ilya -" he gestured towards the Chechen - "to pay a little visit to that Meikle fellow. Asap."

Stanislav nodded sharply. Maroni said a few more words before abruptly dismissing the company.

"Ms. Antonov, you should surely get to know the way around your new city," Stanislav said to Tatiana in rapid Bulgarian as they rose from their seats and made their way towards the staircase.

"Probably," the Bulgarian chuckled. She then stopped and smirked; the Joker, followed by his friend Dr. Crane, were just about to descend when they two parties rubbed past each other. Tatiana extended a hand to stop the Joker as her other hand reached inside her bag. "Ah, ah, ah," she chided. She withdrew the hot glue gun. The Joker stared at her with a cocky leer for a few seconds before Tatiana said a few words to him in Bulgarian. The gun rose to the Joker's face.

Stanislav leaned forward and asked the Joker, "Stream or spray?"

* * *

Reviews, comments, constructive criticism greatly appreciated!


	2. II

It was March 15th, and Joker was feeling whiny and tired when the cab left him and Dr. Crane off on Granville Avenue & 37th Street, in the part of Gotham known variously as Diamond Heights, The Bubble or just simply, the West End. Dr. Crane, who was known to the Joker as Jonathan, hadn't even opened his eyes during the cab ride into the Bubble. He had only responded to two sounds that morning; that of a coffee maker and the Joker's petulant whining, if only to tell him to take it like a man and shut up.

As far as the Joker was concerned, this would have been a lovely day to stay at home and be unconscious.

The condo that the two were headed for was a huge champagne and cream coloured building that took up the whole block of the corner. In addition to the extortionately wealthy and octogenarians, the condo also offered four floors of commercial space rented by various professionals. Below that were offices and the basement, shared by a subway stop. Below _that_ were two more sub-basements and two levels of subway tracks. The block was a world unto itself.

There was no door man securing the large glass entrance. Jonathan glanced at a small note in his hand and pressed a button before a snobbish woman who gave Joker the hairy eyeball could speak to them. A heavy accent greeted the two men.

"Hello?"

"Ms. Antonov, we're here," Jonathan replied with his own hint of displeasure.

"Oh, okay," the Bulgarian said. "Giff me moment."

It was a lovely day, brisk, but not too cold. There were a lot of people on Granville Avenue, which was kind of a prep school-secretary-hipster-scene whore-rich bitch main street. West Gotham used to have that honor, but it became too commercial. All matter of humanity drifted past the two men on the drafted sidewalk, old people, young people, Asians, Hispanics, black people and a tranny with pink hair. Even the drifters seemed benign.

The two men were snapped out of their reverie by the clacking of heeled boots and the squeak of a heavy door. Dr. Crane put on his brave face to greet the Bulgarian. Joker wished he had a blunt object; that, which he would use it on, himself or the Bulgarian, was still undecided.

"Ms. Antonov, you certainly will remember my friend here, won't you?" Crane asked. Tatiana the Bulgarian contemplated the Joker, who on this rarest of occasions, went makeless, but that fleshy pink spot right below his left eye and the scars of a Chelsea Grin across his face left little doubt in her mind who else it could be.

Joker gave Tatiana a caustic grin and a controlled yet pronounced, "hai".

He really wished he had gone for the spray.

Tatiana gave Joker a smart smirk. Dr. Crane, who was now informing her of how his name was "Jonathan", was by far on the receiving end of the Bulgarian's benevolent side. She offered him a cigarette as she listened intently to his broken Bulgarian that he had memorized earlier that morning.

"Jonat'in," she repeated.

"Jona-_than_."

"Jonat'in."

"Close enough," Crane said. Tatiana gestured to Joker with her thumb as she said a few words in Bulgarian. Crane looked puzzled for a moment before taking a shot in the dark, and saying carefully in a low voice, "he is the Joker, but we're just gunna call him 'Jay', for now," Crane said.

"Jay."

"Exactly."

"_Dobre togava,_" Tatiana said before taking a puff. "_Haïde_," she said, swinging her arm down the street.

"Jay" sighed, conceding to his fate for the day and grumbled, "_I'm so excited_."

The two men trailed behind Tatiana, who underneath the bug-eye sunglasses was admiring the boutiques and businesses lining the street. If her hair wasn't coloured like an Easter egg, she would have blended in perfectly with the sea of scrawny hipsters. Joker was griping in a low voice while Crane made sure Tatiana didn't disappear from his sight, even though she wasn't particularly difficult to miss.

"You know, if you're nice to her, you could probably score some pot later," Crane whispered.

Joker contemplated this for a moment before replying, "I'll try, but I can't promise anything."

Crane raised his head as they approached the curb, and then glanced back down at the sheet of paper printed with simple phrases in his hand. "_Spretay tuk, molya_," he called to Tatiana, who then stopped and turned to face the two men.

"_Kyde otivame_?" she replied. Crane paused to think as they approached the Bulgarian. As she looked at him questioningly, he pointed southward down the street.

"There … ?" he said simply, jabbing at the air. His answer seemed to satisfy the Bulgarian who crossed when the little man picture in the light post flickered on.

"Where are we going, anyway?" Joker asked.

"Izzy Skinazzi," Crane replied. "Maroni figured the two ladies should probably get to know each other."

"She's the other, er, _street pharmacist_, isn't she?"

"Yeah," Crane answered. "She's in Gastown – down this way," he said, guiding the Bulgarian through an entrance emblazoned with a sign that said, Monorail – Granville.

They passed by two homeless men sitting by the ticket machines busking with two dusty and out of tune guitars. Tatiana turned to Crane, talking to him in Bulgarian. Crane in turn nodded even though he had no honest idea what she was talking about. "Yes," he said forcefully with a distinct nod, taking yet another shot in the dark.

The company strode down an escalator into the lower levels to the monorail station. They passed by huge advertisements for Shreck's department store, H&M and mindless cell phone ads – **Fat Free Texting!**

Whatever that means.

Tatiana applied a fresh layer of pink lip gloss that had the sheen of cellophane while waiting for the monorail. There was a fair amount of vagrants waiting on the platform for the monorail. A few yards away was a small company of teenage morons with their pants hanging halfway down their asses dancing like squirrels on crack to silly nineties pop music.

"You can't smoke on the train," Crane said quietly to Tatiana as she reached into her purse for another cigarette. She gave him a vacant stare before furrowing her brows and asking him to repeat what he said in her very broken English.

"You. Can't. Smoke. On the. Train," Crane whispered definitively in her ear. He then pointed to her cigarettes, shook his head, and mouthed, 'no'.

The Joker was getting a bit of a giggle out of watching Crane and the Bulgarian stumble over translation fallacy, lost in translation. Tatiana pouted and pushed her sticks back into her bag. She whispered to herself in indiscernible Bulgarian, crossing her arms over her chest.

The train came to a stop before the platform. A swarm of people got off before the company stepped on. There were no empty seats, so our three friends were left standing, supporting themselves on the poles by the doors. The train grumbled to a start, then sped out of the underground tunnels and onto the track, gliding over the lower level buildings. Tatiana was peering inquisitively out the windows, studying the skyline and geography of the area. A few seats away sat a young mother with her daughter, who could not have been older than three. She too was gazing with wonder out at the city. She turned to her mother and exclaimed, "look, Mummy; there's an aeroplane up in the sky!"

Crane let a small smile slide across his lips.

The mother and her daughter departed the train two stops down the way, when the automated woman's voice said coolly, "Stadium / Chinatown". The train then whizzed over the rooftops on the Narrows, then the Bowery, the Cauldron, then Ace Chemical Processing Inc. The train came to a halt in the East End, where our friends got off the train.

"You will really want to get to know these parts of the city," Crane said to Tatiana with the added primitive hand gestures and slow pronounced tone, as Tatiana reached in her bag for the cigarette she was earlier denied. She again offered one to Crane, who politely refused. The Bulgarians' attitude toward Joker had evidently been lifted, as she too offered him one, which he graciously accepted.

"This is where a lot of drug trafficking goes on," Crane continued as two tufts of purple smoke veiled their faces. "Maroni will want you to really monopolize on these areas."

"So where is this chick we're supposed to meet?" Joker asked as the group meandered down the street.

Crane reached inside his jacket pocket, and then retrieved a small slip with the address marked down in messy blue ink. "She's in the Park Royal Towers, apartment 391." Joker nodded as he took another drag.

"_Kolko e daleche?_" Tatiana asked Crane.

Crane shrugged and replied bashfully, "I don't know what that means." He made a mental note to ask Stanislav the next time he saw him.

"Vat's dis?" Tatiana then suddenly asked, stopping in her tracks to let the two men almost walk into her. Her head was turned to study a graffiti wall, covered with symbol slang – little doodle art drawings whose meanings were unknown to mature adults.

"I like this wall," Joker said. Every week, someone would add to the hieroglyphs. Crane sensed that a story was building on the wall, and found it very frustrating not to be able to decipher it. He pondered if there was some inner-city Rosetta stone that would crack the code.

"What does it mean?" Crane asked. Joker snickered and told him nothing.

"I keep forgetting how elderly I am," Crane replied sarcastically. But give or take a few years, and the two men were roughly the same age. Even though he didn't understand what the wall said, Crane found it moving, maybe because the only symbols he could recognize was the anarchist 'A' and a heart.

Charmed and puzzled, Crane was led away when Joker and Tatiana got bored of the wall and began to walk ahead of him. Their attention had been diverted elsewhere to a scene happening up the block. Two patrol cars with their lights winking were parked outside of an old bank building. There were no cops present – it was assumed that they were all inside the building. A small camera crew for GCN was set up. On top of the old bank was a flag, emblazoned with the crest of the city – an eagle surrounded by two proud black lions.

"Eagle!" Tatiana exclaimed. Joker looked at her like she had three heads.

"Yeah, that's an eagle, what about it?" he asked.

"Eagles," she repeated. "Hotel California."

"Yeah, I know the song - "

"On a dark desert highvay!" the Bulgarian began to sing at a level louder than the two dubious men would have liked. "Cool vind in my hair - " The Bulgarian was cut off when Joker slapped a hand over her mouth and dragged her behind a dark green dumpster.

"Will you shut up?" he scolded her. "Last thing we really need at this moment is attention from good ol' Jimbo in there. I mean, are you like, challenged or something? Did your mom smoke a little too much crack when she was pregnant with you or what? Come on, stop being a dumb bitch."

Sensing the hostility in his voice, Tatiana reached into her bag once again for her handy dandy hot glue gun. Joker raised a hand to stop her. "No more trouble," he said slowly. "In case you haven't noticed, there are police over there."

"Ah, _policiya_!" Tatiana replied.

"Yeah, out here, we just call them police," Joker answered. He peeked his head out from behind the dumpster just in time too spot a man with mousy brown hair and a bushy mustache escort a man with a gaping beer gut out of the building. "See that guy over there?" Joker said quietly. "That's Jim Gordon. We don't like him," he said with a shake of his head. "We don't want him on our tails. You play it cool when Jim-Bob's around." Tatiana nodded, although Joker doubted she really understood a word he was saying.

But the two waited behind the dumpster until the patrol cars had driven off. It was then they realized that they had lost Crane.

"Jonat'in!" Tatiana called out. Joker surveyed the cluster of people until he found his friend chatting it up with a woman with chestnut coloured hair, with a GCN press pass clipped to the lapel of her blazer.

"Ooh, who's that?" Joker wondered. Crane and his lady friend were unaware of the two watching them intently. They got impatient after a few minutes, and to Jokers' chagrin, Tatiana called out once more, "Jonat'in!"

This time Crane responded, and his head revolved back to see the two other members of his company waiting restlessly. He turned to his lady friend, issued a quick excuse and apology before they embraced in a friendly hug of old friends who'd just been reunited.

"Who was that?" Joker teased.

"That's for me to know and you to ponder," Crane answered smarmily.

"Got yourself a hot date?"

"Perhaps," Crane said, his cheeks flushing at the apples. Joker snickered.

"C'mon, let's not be children about this," Crane said. "Remember what we're down here to do, right?"

Jokers' smirk melted into a scowl of displeasure. "Right."

"It's not far from here," said Crane as the party continued on their epic quest down the street. The ember at the tip of Jokers' lips burnt out and he threw it to the ground as they approached a five story building, painted firebrick and sienna with off white balconies.

The glass door to the apartment complex that was Park Royal towers was stained and slicked with dirty fingerprints, Sharpie graffiti and what looked like ironed ketchup. A man exiting the building held the door open for the three as the walked in. They waited for an elevator in the lobby, with the walls covered in garish floral wallpaper.

The trip to the third floor was uneventful, aside from Crane finding a used condom in the corner of the elevator. When they reached the third floor, they turned right down the hall and stopped at apartment 391. Crane knocked on the door. When there was no answer, he knocked on it again, more forceful this time; but the door slowly creaked and swung in. Joker pushed the door further into the cheap and sparse apartment.

"Izzy?" Crane called out as he led the party further into the apartment. "Ms. Skinazzi? This is weird," he said when no one answered. Tatiana looked just as confused as Crane, but Joker was about as casual and collected as if they had just been invited in for a cup of coffee.

"Izzy?" Crane repeated once more. As he turned left down the hall he noticed the light in the bathroom was left on. He pushed the door open.

Izzy Skinazzi was staring straight ahead.

Her body was contorted as it lay in the bathtub in the most awkward position.

She was covered in blood.

* * *

_Dobre togava_ - All right, then

_Haide_ - Come on

_Spretay tuk, molya_ - Stop here, please

_Kyde otivame_ - Where are we going?

_Kolko e daleche_ - How far is it?

As always, reviews, comments and constructive criticism is always appreciated!


	3. III

Eva Frederiksen's head felt like it was on the career chopping block.

This feeling wasn't alleviated at the sight of a guillotine someone had left in the alley by the old bank building, wedged between two garbage cans as if someone had just thrown it out with the trash. The absence of severed body parts told her it either wasn't a working guillotine or it had not yet been tested; yet in a city practically oozing with street gangs, such a form of harsh justice would not have been ignored. This seemed anything but random to her. Nope, this was an omen if she ever did see one.

Her soundman and cameraman were arguing about whose turn it was to drive the van next. Eva sighed, readjusted her sharp blazer and replayed in her head a vision she'd had a million times before. She was around eighty, and old but finely wrinkled lady, who when her grandchildren came over to visit her in a retirement home known as Gray Bush Resorts, would tell them stories of when she was a hot young whippersnapper, climbing up the ladder of network news, interviewing the most important political figures of the day … corresponding in Afghanistan … Bennifer.

Yup. She'd had her shot and she'd blown it by rising to ask District Attorney Harvey Dent a question and letting rip a loud fart that was the first in a series of unfortunate events in her life. _If I could go back and change one thing,_ Eva often found herself thinking,_ … well, first off, I wouldn't have had Mexican for lunch_.

It wasn't conducive to the positive mental attitude Eva had resolved to create for herself. She liked to think this was only a temporary fallback, that it was only a matter of time before the network had her back on prime time news, but it was difficult. At thirty one, she considered herself to look at least two years younger than her age and if you believe it, it's as good as true. Five nine, healthy, brunette, good looking; but the industry was shamelessly fickle, and if you lose your looks in the business … Eva gulped.

The pressing crowd was making Eva feel a bit claustrophobic and no activity had been seen in or around the old bank building. She pushed through the crowd and leaned up against the building when she managed to swim through the throng of people. She was in the middle of her deep breathing exercises when a pale man with spectacles approached her.

"Eva?" he asked.

"Yeah," she replied with a hint of annoyance.

"Eva Frederiksen," the man said. Eva nodded with hostility.

"It's me," the man said.

Now that she came to think of it, he was oddly familiar.

"Crane - Jonathan Crane," the man said. "We graduated together, Sentinel Secondary, class of '95."

"Yeah, I remember you," Eva replied with a small grin. "You were the kid who burned the word, **'FUCK'** into the school football field along with Kearney Jones and Geoff Kresge." Crane chortled and nodded. "How've you been?" Eva asked.

"Good," Crane answered. "Really good, I'm er, actually working up at Arkham," he lied. What else could he say? _'I performed ethically questionable practices on my patients and terrorized the city all while wearing a burlap sack on my face. I'm currently jobless and shacking up with a certified criminal whack job.'_ That wouldn't do, for obvious reasons.

"Well, I see you're doing well for yourself," Crane said, "gettin' all on the TV and whatnot."

"You don't watch a lot of TV, do you?" Eva asked jokingly.

"No, not lately," Crane chuckled. Eva left it that.

"What are you doing in these parts?" Eva asked.

"I'm actually making a house call to a patient," Crane fibbed. "What's going on here?"

"Ugh, some coke bust or something," Eva said nonchalantly. "The cops have been in there for hours."

"Do you know if it's connected to the Padovanni's?"

"Probably."

Crane was about to say more, but was cut off by a voice shouting, "Jonat'in!" His head swiveled to find the Bulgarian, who wasn't particularly difficult to miss, and Joker, who were both looking antsy and restless.

"Those your friends?" Eva asked.

"Assistants, kind of," Crane said. "It's complicated." Eva nodded.

"But it was really good seeing you again," Crane quickly added.

"Definitely," replied Eva.

"We should hang out again sometime," Crane said.

Eva reached into her right pocket and withdrew her wallet and pulled out a business card. "Here's my card," she said. "That's um, my office number, my cell and my home phone," she said, pointing to different number sequences. "Gimme a shout."

"Deffs," Crane smiled. The two embraced in a friendly hug.

"Jonat'in!"

"I gotta go," Crane said. "I'll call you."

"I look forward to it."

* * *

"Jonat'in?" Tatiana called. Crane was standing in the bathroom doorway stupefied with shock. Joker was casually meandering through the rooms and halls. When he approached Crane and saw Izzy Skinazzi lying dead and bloodied in the bathtub, he sucked on his lips, shrugged and said, unmoved, "oh well, we tried."

"Vat's going on?" Tatiana asked, pushing her way through the two men. When her eyes met the grizzly scene, she made a disgusted noise and shuddered.

"We should get out of here," Crane said. "The longer we're here, the more evidence we leave behind. We need to get to Maroni ASAP."

Suddenly the door was swung open with great force and two suited goons stomped in. Quick as a cat, both Crane and Joker had their trusted weapons at the disposal; Joker, a hunting knife and Crane, a shiny grey aerosol canister. Out of the corner of his eye, Crane saw a wet washcloth lying in the bathroom sink. He grabbed it and plastered it across Tatiana's nose and mouth. "Don't take it off until I say so," he said. She held the cloth to her face with one hand while her other was fumbling for her hot glue gun.

"Who's there?" one of the suited goons asked in another room. Crane, Joker and Tatiana approached the man from behind. The goon had a pistol in his hand but before he could react, the Joker had it knocked out of his grasped and had his hunting knife in his mouth. Crane had his aerosol canister held up with his index finger on the trigger.

"You wanna know how I got these scars?" Joker asked the goon. The goon was paralyzed with fear and didn't respond; so Joker nodded and told yet another variation of a story he had told about a million times before. "These are what you get when you mix thirteen ounces of cocaine with a couple toddlers and some gardening equipment."

"Don't move!" barked the other goon from across the room. His gun was raised and his feet were standing firm and apart. In one swift movement, Crane traveled the length of the room and sprayed a grayish white substance into his face. The goon shrieked and dropped the gun, causing it to go off and send a bullet through the drywall. Tatiana, with the washcloth still over her face, picked up the gun and swapped it with her hot glue equivalent. The goon had fallen to the ground and was screaming bloody murder at the top of his lungs. The aerosol has dissipated through the room and was swirling around Joker and the man with the knife in his mouth

"Let's go," Crane said urgently. Joker dropped the man to the ground and left him to the spray, which as the party raced down the emergency staircase in the building, had administered it's affects on both the men.

Crane, Joker and Tatiana didn't stop running until finding a pay phone two blocks down and across from Park Royal Towers. Crane dug a quarter of his pockets and dialed for Maroni as Joker and Tatiana were bent over, both panting heavily. The Bulgarian dropped the soggy washcloth to the pavement, where it made a soft smacking sound against the concrete.

" 'Yallo?" Maroni answered.

"Maroni, it's me, Crane," Crane said while trying to catch his breath.

"Yo, Doctor, ya'll right? You sound like you've just run the London Marathon," Sal Maroni said.

"It's about Izzy Skinazzi."

"Why? What happened?"

"She's dead, sir," Crane breathed. "We found her in the bathtub, with what appeared to be stabwounds."

"Shit," Maroni grumbled. "I'll hafta get Meza and Hernandez on this one."

"Also," Crane breathed, "a couple Padovanni thugs showed up at the apartment."

"What did you do?" Maroni asked after a pause.

"I used the fear toxin on them. They won't be going anywhere."

"Good. If we could somehow plant this on the Padovanni's …"

"What do you want us to do, sir?"

"You're in the East End, right?"

"Yeah."

"Tell you what; I'm down on Granville and Robson. Why don't you three meet me at say, the er, sushi place, oh, fuck if I can pronounce it. We'll discuss it more there."

"Okay."

"See you in about, what, twenty, thirty, minutes?"

"Okay."

* * *

I know it's not nearly as long as the other chapters, but I don't like to have way too much going on in one chapter at once. Besides, I wanted to just focus this one on the introduction of Eva.

But as always, reviews, comments, constructive criticism is always welcome & I promise the next one will be longer!


	4. IV

After another twenty minute monorail ride, and a struggle with an elderly Japanese woman who couldn't speak English, our three desperados finally met up with Maroni & Co. at a high-end sushi restaurant called **Tomokazu**. The _cosa nostra _was sitting in a VIP setting, with cushions on the floors and painted rice paper partitions that were shut. Below the chatter, there was a mix of contemporary J-Pop playing on the radio. Maroni was sitting on a silk cushion between two other members of the crime syndicate; one, an older, pudgy man with an obvious gray hairpiece and a young, very handsome man in a suit who Crane had seen around a few times before. There were about five other people sitting around, each immersed in their own topics of conversation. Maroni invited Crane, Joker & Tatiana to sit down. Before Tatiana could sit down at an available cushion beside the younger man, Maroni started questioning the other two about what happened.

Crane led him through the event in detail, while two of the men sitting around listened intently. Crane assumed they must be family detectives of some kind. Tatiana was also listening intently, but more for the purpose of the language rather than information, while Joker was listening half-heartedly, and studying the Japanese art on the walls and partitions.

Once Crane was finished his story, without any interruptions from Tatiana or Joker, Maroni sat quiet with his hand on his fist. "Dominguez, Ortiz," he said to the two detective men, "I want you to go down and meet up with Hernandez and Meza."

"Yes sir," the two men said, and made their way out. Once they had left, Maroni resumed his questioning.

"Were the Padovanni's aware of what had happened?" he asked.

"Not to my knowledge," Crane answered.

"And she was stabbed, you say?"

"Repeatedly, from the looks of it."

Maroni lowered his head. "Poor girl," he said. "She was a good kid. Smart, friendly, a good worker … you know, she had no family left. All she had was her half-brother, he's in Michigan, I believe. He's gonna be devastated. I'll have to call him tonight," and he shook his head.

"Sir," Crane asked after a moment of silence, "do you believe that the Padovanni's may have something to do with this?"

Maroni pondered this for a moment. "I have my hunches," he answered. "But until we get answers from our detectives, I'm not in any position to make any kind of accusation. For all we know, it might have been a robbery, a deal gone wrong, revenge from a lover scorned. You never know with these kind of situations, ya know?"

"I understand."

The company was silent again. While in their silence, a Japanese waitress brought over a fresh _tokkuri_ flask of sake, and a set of small ceramic _choko_ cups. "_Arigatou gozaimashita_," Maroni said quietly. The woman nodded and left the room, shutting the partition carefully behind her. Maroni poured everyone a small serving of sake, before toasting to poor Izzy Skinazzi.

The pudgy man, who bore a striking resemblance to Roger Ebert, started a new conversation with Maroni and the somber tone of the room was promptly lifted. Crane, Joker and the young suited man exchanged "hello's", before he introduced himself to Tatiana.

"Hi," he said smoothly to her. Tatiana evidently was not in the mood for sweet talk, so to keep him humored, she replied with a, "hello."

"I'm Dan Terrett," the man said to her, holding out his hand. "What's your name?"

"Tatiana," the Bulgarian replied as she shook his hand. Dan was undeniably an attractive man, a total pretty boy - he was well built, muscular & tall, with light brown hair and light blue eyes, but it was apparent to Crane and Joker, who were watching on, that Tatiana wasn't feeling the guy.

"Ah," Dan said. "You're the girl from Bulgaria, right? The one with the glue gun?" he laughed.

"Ya," she said plainly, examining a yam tempura roll. Crane wondered if she even understood what Dan was talking about, and if she was only replying to appease him.

"I heard about that. It made me laugh," Dan said. "If you ever need help getting around the city -"

"I'll be fine," Tatiana said. "You don't have to. Nice of you to offer, but I'm fine."

Dan opened his mouth to say more, but was cut off my a beeping from his pocket. He withdrew his Blackberry and furrowed his brow. "Right," he said quietly to himself.

"Who is it, Dan?" Maroni asked, picking up a piece of sushi between his chopsticks.

"It's my bro, Evan," he answered. "He's gonna swing by here in a bit, we hafta head over town for some big family to-do."

"Ahh, drummer boy," Maroni nodded. "Is he still at GU?"

"Yep, last year," Dan said proudly. Crane, Joker and Tatiana were lost and frankly not interested in family matters. The three shared a secret look and ate silently, and remained quiet even when the company had dismissed themselves and left the restaurant. Dan was waiting out on the curb waiting for his brother, while the group stayed with him while he waited.

"You gonna be fine getting home tonight?" Maroni asked Tatiana.

"We'll take her in a cab," Crane answered.

"Good. I don't want anything else happening to my girls," Maroni said. He turned to Tatiana. "If you feel unsafe at all, call Stanislav, and we'll get someone for you." Tatiana didn't reply. She crossed her arms to shield her from a gust of wind. The sky had clouded over and the sun was overcast. Joker had his head low and the collar on his coat popped.

After a few minutes, a silver car pulled up to the curb beside the company. At the wheel was a young man, no older than twenty two, who Crane assumed was Dan's brother. Maroni insisted the man come out to catch up.

"Hello sir," the young man said after Maroni greeted him.

"Dan tells me you're in your last year at Gotham U this year," Maroni said. "What is it that you study, again?"

"Double major in English and Psychology."

"Good for you, Evan," Maroni said.

Crane studied the brothers who had aligned themselves side by side. Evan was a few inches taller than his brother, and his face was more oval. While Dan's hair was straight and short, Evan's was thicker, darker and slightly curly. The only feature they shared was their eyes - the brothers had the same light blue eyes, a pale shade of dodger blue.

"Well, we'd best be going," Dan said. "I'll talk to you later, Maroni."

"Take care of yourself, boys," Maroni said.

"Will do, sir," Dan said. He waved to the company as he got in the car. Evan gave a small wave himself, and Crane was surprised when Tatiana was the only one who waved back.

That was the last thing she did that day, until the cab dropped her off outside her apartment building. Crane couldn't read her mind, but guessed that this wasn't the best possible way to kick off a new career. It felt like an omen, if he ever did see one.

* * *

Short, I know. But important. Bear with me.

Comments, constructive criticism always welcome!


	5. V

_March 22nd_. It had been a week since the murder of Izzy Skinazzi but by this time, the topic was old news for the crime syndicates. The Maroni family however, did take this particular day to mourn the loss and pay their respects.

True to his word, Maroni did bring down Ms. Skinazzi's last living relative; her half - brother Sean, from Michigan. He had given a beautiful eulogy at her small funeral service earlier today, where the men of the _cosa nostra _had shown up with unkempt beards - a sign of respect and mourning among the crime underground. Her body had been taken to the funeral home in preparations for cremation. And, when the family had retired to **The Backstage Lounge**, which had a view of the river, Sean shared his wishes with Dan Terrett in that he wanted to scatter his sisters ashes over the ocean.

"So that she can travel all over the world," was his explanation.

Sean Skinazzi didn't share his sisters' love for crime and rebellion. He was a small business owner in Detroit, and according to him, hadn't seen or spoken to Izzy for some odd years. Her death didn't come as a shock to him, but by the way he talked about her, Crane could tell that they had been close earlier in life. Crane had never experienced a death that hit so close to the heart before, and frankly, he didn't wish to.

The Backstage Lounge, on the west side by the Gotham River, was a trendy bar known for showcasing a lot of local musicians. The place had earned itself the reputation of the premiere location for local talent. The joint was classy and sleek, with leather booths, good food and sexy blonde waitresses. Tonight there was a Jazz / R n'B outfit playing tonight, and Evan Terrett was on drum duty.

That was why the Family liked this place. Connections.

Joker had shown up to the funeral service, but had decided that he didn't want to be out tonight, and had retired back to the abandoned warehouse where he and Crane were staying. Tatiana was out this night, looking surprisingly demure in a black pencil shirt and blouse. Her English skills had evolved exponentially, and she was now able to hold her own in a small conversation. Even so, she still stayed close with Stanislav and Crane.

Crane had secured himself a seat at a booth in the back of the room. The table was surrounded by other members of the Family and lit with a soft overhanging lamp. When not discussing fond memories of Izzy, they had taken it upon themselves to gossip about the Padovanni's.

"I saw one of their women the other day," Dan Terrett said. "She looked like she was wearing a mask of _ugly_. I almost wanted to tell her that it's not a good idea to go tanning when your skin looks like Mars."

Tatiana, with the two other ladies sitting there, laughed hard. Crane was a passive listener in all of this. He didn't know too much about the Padovanni's and his encounter as Izzy's apartment was his first one with them yet.

"Jonat'in," Tatiana said, tapping his forearm, "vot time is it, Jonat'in?"

Crane peeked at his watch. "It's ten-thirty," he answered.

"Oh, it's early," Tatiana said. Crane sighed and his shoulders fell. He was feeling tired and wanted to go back to his warehouse. But Tatiana was a total night owl, and preferred to do the most of her business and socializing at night. Maroni had given Crane the duty of making sure she was kept safe. That entailed accompanying her in cabs, and watching out for her at night; a situation neither took pleasure in, but reluctantly followed lest they face an angry Mafia boss.

So, Crane listened half-heartedly to the conversation and had one ear open to the music. All he heard and remembered was Dan continuing to describe this Padovanni chick, with the words, "your face is _not_ a colouring book!" Crane immediately got a mental image of Joker in his full makeup, and chuckled.

While Crane was busy thinking about chemical formulas, the Jazz band ended their set to generous applause from the audience. Evan was the youngest member, the rest being at least over forty. Dan left the booth to go talk to his brother. The ladies present at the table leaned in and started talking amongst themselves. Crane got sick of the Orlando Bloom talk about thirty seconds in, and excused himself to the bar, where Dan and his brother were deep in conversation. He didn't wish to be dragged into conversation, so he avoided eye contact with anyone and everyone. But, as he was waiting for his drink, Dan caught up with him and officially introduced him to his brother.

"Evan, this is my associate Jonathan, he is a psychologist at Arkham. He might be able to open some doors for you," Dan said. Crane graciously shook Evan's hand.

"Nice to meet you, sir," Evan said.

"My brother studies psychology and English at the University," Dan explained.

"Psychology is a fascinating field," Crane said.

"I'm enjoying it," Evan said simply. "But I really want to get into teaching."

"I did some student - teacher work back when I was a student," Crane said. "Didn't like it, though."

Crane was about to continue when he felt a pair of hands crawl around his arm. It was Tatiana again, and this time, she wanted to know what the word, _badinage_ meant.

"It's like playful banter," Evan answered before Crane had a chance to respond. He then grew red in the face, and issued a quick, "I'm sorry, sir."

Crane couldn't help but smile. "I didn't even know that was a word, so don't be sorry, kid."

"Thank you," Tatiana said to Evan.

"I like your hair," he replied. "It's like an anime cartoon. It's neat."

"Vell, thank you," Tatiana responded.

"I'm Evan."

"Tatiana."

"Where are you from?"

"Bulgaria."

"Oh, that's interesting. Are you liking America so far?"

Tatiana considered this for a moment before replying, "I miss home."

"How long have you been here, Tatiana?" Evan asked. Crane was rolling his eyes and hoping to leave soon.

"A veek."

"Only a week! Your English is impressive," Evan remarked.

"A little," Tatiana said, with her thumb and forefinger held up close together. She reached into her bag to pull out her pack of cigarettes, which she offered to Evan.

"Oh, no thank you, I don't smoke," he said.

"You can't smoke in here, either," Crane whispered in Tatiana's ear, pointing to a **No Smoking** sign above the bar.

"Jesus, you can't get a …" she huffed, trailing off into incoherent Bulgarian rants. "I'll head outside, then. It vos nice to meet you," she said to Evan.

"Yes, and you too," he said. The men waited until she was out of eyesight before Evan started asking more serious questions.

"So, Dan didn't give me all the details, but what happened to this girl?" he asked.

Crane sighed.

"I mean, you don't have to tell me if you don't want to -"

"No, it's fine," Crane said. "She was stabbed to death in her apartment bathroom."

"Oh, that's horrible. I feel sorry for her family," Evan said. "When did all of this happen?"

"Last week, a Tuesday I believe."

"Oh, the fifteenth."

"Yeah."

"Hmm," pondered Evan. "It's like the Ides of March. Reminds me of _Julius Caesar_."

Crane wasn't much for English literature, but at this, his ears perked up. "Pardon?"

"From William Shakespeare," Evan explained. "Remember, in _Julius Caesar_ when the Soothsayer says, beware the Ides of March?" Crane didn't remember high school English fully, but it sounded fascinating. "And then Caesar is assassinated by Brutus and Cassius on March 15th, in the Third Act of the play. They stabbed him to death."

"That … weirdly makes sense," Crane said, thinking aloud.

"_Et tu, Brute?_ Then fall, Caesar!" Evan said to himself animatedly. Out of the corner of his eye, Crane caught Maroni chatting with the Chechen.

"Maroni," Crane said.

"What?" he asked.

"Come over here, I just thought of something." Maroni approached the two men.

"What is it?"

"Evan here was just telling me a fascination connection between Julius Caesar and Miss Skinazzi."

Maroni eyed the boy. "Well?"

"Julius Caesar was stabbed to death on March 15th," Evan answered.

"So?" Maroni asked.

"So was Izzy Skinazzi," Crane said.

"So?"

"So what?" Evan asked, lost.

"Don't you think it's a weird connection?" Crane asked.

"No," Maroni answered. "I don't think it's a connection it all. It was one isolated incident. I mean, think about it. How many other people were stabbed on March fifteenth and it had nothing to do with Shakespeare the frig? It's nothing more than coincidence."

"With all due respect, sir, I think it's worth possibly looking into," Crane said.

"What did I do?" Evan asked worriedly.

"Nothing, kid, you're good," Crane brushed him off.

Maroni sighed. "Crane, I trust your judgment, and Lord knows I'm no Shakespeare expert, but it's just a freak coincidence. We still don't have all the facts and until we do, I don't wanna be put into a position that could possibly lead us off on a wild goose chase for the wrong killer, when we should be spending our energy making money and being productive."

Crane was about to speak, but Maroni cut him off. "I don't wanna hear it." He then turned to Evan. "You're a good kid, and you're smart as a whip, but I don't think you need to be worrying your curly head all over this. You're still young." He ruffled Evan's hair before striding off to the Roger Ebert man.

Evan furrowed his brow. "But, I …"

Tatiana strode back in. "Jonat'in, somet'ings happening outside. Some guys are asking for Maroni."

Evidently Maroni already knew, because Crane, Tatiana and Evan saw him exit through the front door of the Lounge. Overcome by curiosity, Crane was lured to the front and tried to get a glimpse. As the crowd was pressing in on him, there was a sudden **BANG!** of a gun shot. The patrons screamed and ducked for cover. The bouncers at the front began yelling as two more shots were fired. Crane covered his head. He could hear yelling from outside, but couldn't decipher any clear words.

"Get out through the back," Evan said, pointing over to a deck side door as Evan tried to get as many people out the back as possible. Crane and Tatiana crawled to the door and ran outside, with only the streetlamps to light the roads and alleys. Running by the river, Crane tried to hail a cab as the yells grew louder and more confused. But there were no more gunshots. Evan ran up behind the two.

"What happened?" Crane asked. "Was anybody hurt?"

"I don't know," Evan said. "That's never happened here before. Are you two alright?"

"Yeah, I think I'm good," Crane said. Evan waved his hand and a taxi promptly pulled over to the side of the road.

"Be careful, kid," Crane said to Evan from the window. "Maroni's right. You're still young."

Evan was about to respond, but the approaching police sirens prompted the cab driver to pull out. As the car made it's way back into Little Azerbaijan, Crane pondered what Maroni had said. Perhaps he really was right. Maybe this truly was an isolated incident. Maybe there was no connection to Shakespeare at all. The only connection might be Evan's connection.

* * *

Comments, constructve criticism always appreciated!


	6. VI

It was a sign of his deep state of denial, combined with temporary post-sleep amnesia, that when Crane awoke the next day, he had almost forgotten entirely about Izzy Skinazzi.

"The headlines at this hour: after years of decline, the murder and gang activity rates in Gotham are up," intoned the serious voice of the disc-jockey. "But air pollution levels are down and forecast says, slight chance of rain."

"Well, there's a mixed message for you," the Joker said as Crane dragged his feet to the coffee pot. "The chances of me being killed suddenly and violently are up, the chances of me being killed slowly by lung cancer are down, and either way, it might rain!"

Joker was lying back on an old, beat up couch reading a paperback copy of _Helter Skelter_. The two men had missed each other the night before, since when Crane arrived back at the warehouse, he had refused to talk and almost immediately collapsed into bed.

"How was the after-party?" Joker asked as he flipped over a page of his book.

"There was a shooting at the club," Crane answered.

"Who got shot?"

"I'm not sure, I didn't see," Crane said. "But I know Maroni was out there."

"Ahh. You know, if Sally gets iced, I hear Dan Terrett is next in line to take over for the Family."

"Where'd you hear that?"

"Well, Perez Hilton, _obviously_."

Crane rolled his eyes, but, at the mention of 'Terrett', he jumped. "That reminds me!" he said. He entered the space where the Joker was sitting and crouched by him. "Evan Terrett said something very interesting last night. Something about Izzy's murder."

"Really? And what did he say?" Joker asked.

"Did you ever study Shakespeare in school?"

Joker thought for a moment. "I liked _Hamlet_," he answered. "It was like _The Lion King_, only without the animals. Or musical numbers," he added as an afterthought.

"Did you ever study _Julius Caesar_?"

"Probably. I don't remember much from school."

"Well, Evan studies English at the University, and he made a fascinating connection between _Caesar_ and Skinazzi."

"Also, three cheers for alliteration," Joker said.

Crane shook his head. "Izzy was stabbed to death on March 15th, as was Caesar in Act Three," he explained. "_Beware the Ides of March_."

"But, couldn't it also just be coincidence?" Joker asked.

"That's exactly what Maroni said," Crane replied, and the shadow of his doubt grew further in his mind. Trying to shake it off, he quickly added, "but don't you think it's worth looking into?"

"I'd wait for a pattern to emerge, if I were you or the police," Joker said. "Wait for the_ modus operandi_. To be honest, as long as they don't fuck with me, I really don't care."

Crane wished his partner wasn't so shamelessly nihilistic.

"But, think about it," he added. "All the most infamous serial killers have had some sort of gimmick, some kind of identity and brand to mark their crimes. Jack the Ripper, The Zodiac, the BTK Killer, Son of Sam, Charles Manson," he said, pointing to the book.

"But there's only been one killing so far," Joker pointed out.

Crane clenched his teeth. "I'm gonna go for a walk," he said, getting up.

"You do that," Joker said, returning to his book. Crane pulled on his blazer and a pair of sunglasses and finger-combed his hair.

The weather was much the same as it had been for the past week or so. It was chilly, but not too cold. The sky was overcast and the clouds were low. To be safe, he had tucked his Scarecrow mask and a canister of his fear gas in the inside pocket of his blazer.

The drifters on this side of the River struck a sense of trepidation in Crane. It wasn't that he felt scared - Crane knew that he could handle an aggressive panhandler - but more _concerned_. Whilst working in Arkham, a patient had once revealed to him that he had stabbed a man with a dirty syringe when the man refused to pay him after an impromptu street performance. Crane could only imagine as to what effect it later had on the man's life.

He avoided eye contact with anyone and everyone and let his feet lead him to where they may. He passed a tattoo parlor, a Salvation Army and an adult store with a sign that was advertising **25 Cent Peep Shows**. In this scummier side of town, he passed the studio for the Multicultural channel, where outside, in fitting fashion, was a young couple, the Iranian boy a good head taller than the pale blonde he was passionately kissing. Crane wished them the best.

Finally growing restless in the east corridor of the city, Crane made his way over to the monorail station. The rickety monorail passed the Wayne Enterprise building on it's way to a more classy part of town, where Crane decided he would like to waste his time. He knew that he probably should be working on developing his crystallized toxin, but felt too preoccupied with his thoughts. He made a mental note to get back to business the second he had another free moment. Crane disembarked at the Burrard station, and feeling much more confident in that he wouldn't likely be stabbed with needles in this neck of the woods, meandered aimlessly down the long commercial avenue. There were high end shops on each side of the street, and at least three Starbucks within a two block radius of each other. There was also a Virgin Megastore which was parallel to the headquarters of GCN. A couple stores down from that was a mom-and-pop café, where out of the corner of his eye, Crane caught miss Eva Frederiksen sitting by the window, enjoying her soup and sandwich.

Crane tapped gently on the glass. Eva looked up and her face lit up with recognition. She motioned for him to come inside and sit with her. Crane gladly obliged.

"Fancy seeing you down here," Eva said. "Bit of a hike from Arkham."

"I didn't have to work today," Crane lied. "What have you been up to? It's nice to see you, again."

"Oh, not much, you know, same old," Eva replied with a wave of her hand. "Are you hungry?"

"No thank you, I'm fine."

"Are you sure? You look famished," Eva said. "Seriously, you look like you've lost quite a bit of weight. I'm sure the stress of your job must be taking it's toll on your body. C'mon, have some lunch."

"No, I couldn't."

"Don't worry about it. I get a GCN discount here. My treat," Eva said, and beckoned over a waiter. "What do you like?" she asked him.

Flustered, Crane answered quickly, "I'll have what you're having."

"How've you been doing?" Eva asked.

"Not too bad," Crane said. "Just, you know, going a day at a time. What about you?"

"I've always wanted to do a miniseries about the rehabilitation process," Eva said. "You know, exposing one's rise from being locked in a prison or asylum and watching them grow and eventually integrate back into society. Feel good pieces. But my goddamn cocksmoker of a boss has me doing a series right now on the fucking funeral business."

"That is an excellent idea for a piece," Crane said. "It is incredibly rewarding to see how your work helps people regain normal lives."

Eva nodded. The waiter brought over a generous bowl of tomato soup and a Hoagie and set it in front of Crane.

"Thank you very much," Crane said, and despite his earlier remarks, ate with gusto. He was very hungry.

"What's it like, working up at Arkham?" Eva asked.

Crane wiped his mouth with a napkin. He pondered this for a moment. He pondered how he should word it. It had been a while since he had left the Asylum.

"Outside, you can be a giant," he said, as the droves of civilians walked past the café window. "But in there, only the mind can grant you power."

"You enjoy the reversal."

"I respect the minds' power over the body," Crane corrected. "It's why I do what I do."

It seemed to be a satisfactory answer for Eva. Crane was glad that she didn't ask any more questions. The two sat in silence for a moment. "Whatever happened to that drug bust I saw you at the other week?" Crane asked.

"Dunno," Eva said. "Guy got put in jail, last I heard, he was awaiting his trial date."

"What was his name?"

"Greg Howard, I believe."

"Was he connected to the Padovanni's?"

"I don't know," Eva said. "I think he was just some small time drug dealer. Rumor has it he also had a grow-op in his basement. I don't know all of the facts yet."

"I see."

They were quiet again for a moment. Crane continued his questions. "I'm sorry, I'm so out of the loop. What else has been happening?"

"The same kinda shit that every other city has to deal with, really," Eva said. "Traffic, the economy, drugs, crime, murder, etcetera. There was a kidnapping and murder of a young autistic boy the other day. Such a sad story. Myself and a few other ladies got a bit teary eyed. But other than that, no real big stories."

"It must be a challenge to work in a field where you can't let your emotions get the better of you," Crane said. "Do you ever feel as though this has repressed your emotions?"

Eva contemplated this for a moment. "No, I don't think so. I'm not a robot, Jonathan. We've all had a good cry every now and then, but off the air - Nine eleven, the assassination of Benazir Bhutto, Lady Di - but, you're right, we do have to keep our emotions in check when the cameras are rolling. It's my job. We're not supposed to be emotional, we're supposed to be objective. Although, admittedly," and here she chortled, "I was a bit depressed when I heard Billy Mays died."

Crane chuckled.

"You really don't watch any TV at all?" Eva asked, as if it was so impossible to believe.

"I just don't have the time, or the money," Crane answered simply.

"But what about the internet?"

"I really only use it for email," Crane lied again. He hadn't checked his email in months.

"In some ways, I kind of envy you," Eva said.

"Why is that?"

"Because you're always so plugged in, what with the Crackberry's and iPOD's and Macs and just … everything keeps you tied in. You're always accessible. It's disconcerting at times."

"I definitely am living in a simpler time," Crane laughed.

The two of them finished their lunches and easily wasted away an hour talking. They leapt from topics such as high-school nostalgia to movies and literature to even the most inane and random topic they happened to tangent into. Crane was so wrapped up in conversation, that he was unaware of the Roger Ebert man when he came into the shop, and only noticed him when the man decided to go over and chat him up.

"Well, Doctor Crane, what are you doing out and about on this day?" the man asked, holding a wrapped sandwich in one hand. "And who is this lovely young lady?"

Eva blushed. "I'm Eva, I work for GCN."

"Well, isn't that something," the man said. "How are you after er, last night?"

"I'm fine, we're all fine," Crane answered quickly. He wanted the fat man to go away.

The man opened his mouth as if to continue, but was cut off by his ringing phone. He withdrew it from his pocket.

"Yes, sir? Oh, my …. Yes sir, right away. You," he said firmly to Crane, "come with me. It's an emergency."

Crane looked at Eva apologetically. "I'm sorry, but I really should go," he said.

"No, it's fine, I understand," she said. "Go do your job, okay?"

Crane nodded.

"Call me sometime, okay?"

"Yes, of course," Crane responded. He followed the fat man outside, and hailed a cab.

"What's going on?" Crane asked once the cab had taken off.

"Are you insane, Crane?" the man snarled as he grabbed the lapels of his blazer. "Haven't you even given a moments thought about the dangers of fraternizing with the media?! One slip, and you've caused the downfall of the entire family, you insolent boy."

Crane grasped the mans' hand and forcefully removed it from his coat. "I am more than aware that you are not intimidated by me, but do not mistake me for a fool. I do not have to justify myself to you. The fact that my acquaintance works for GCN is irrelevant. Don't you yourself have a son who works in radio? Now tell me; what is this big emergency?"

The man trembled. "Something at Maroni's house, something about Izzy … I can't explain it."

"Is Maroni dead?"

"No, he sounded alive and well on the phone. There apparently was a break-in at the crematorium and … I don't know how to explain it."

_Moron_, Crane thought with contempt.

The cab headed into the affluent neighborhood that was known as the British Properties. It was by the outskirts of the city and had a view of the downtown and the winding river from atop a large hill. This was the habitat for Gotham's extortionately wealthy. Each house was somewhat secluded and had a gated driveway and was surrounded by lush hedges. At least four stories high, the houses themselves were more befitting to miniature castles. Maroni's was white with dark gray matte trim, and the exterior seemed to glow where the Sun hit it. It reminded Crane of the city of Minas Tirith, but without the towering white bastion of stone.

A fairly sizable crowd had gathered outside the gate to the Maroni estate. Crane easily spotted Tatiana, who was standing next to the Joker. The only cops present were Meza & Hernandez. There was a sheet laid over a figure on the ground, and from behind it, a long leather harness that would have been used on a horse. Crane could see scuff marks on the ground from where the figure had evidently been dragged.

"What happened here?" he asked.

"Apparently," Joker said, "someone broke into the crematorium last night and stole Izzy's body. They then dragged her along this stretch of road by that harness."

"That harness is used for horses," Crane said. "I don't see any hoof marks and there are no stables around for miles."

"That's vot dey said," Tatiana said, pointing to the cops.

"Well then, how would they drag her?"

"The most likely answer would be by car," Joker shrugged.

Crane shook his head. "This is disgusting. Poor girl. Could it be the Padovanni's?"

"It's possible. They could be using this as a poor attempt to intimidate us." Joker laughed. "This is puppy shit."

The three of them stood in silence for a moment. Dan Terrett walked by and Crane grabbed him by the shoulder. "Oh, Crane, so glad you've finally arrived," he said. "We were hoping you might be able to pull a psychological profile of the kind of person who would do this."

"Only someone who could benefit from intimidation."

"The Padovanni's."

"That's what it would appear to be," Crane said. He contemplated the situation for a long moment. He had an idea … he wasn't ready to let go of his theory yet.

"Dan, can I get you to call up Evan? I need to ask him a question," Crane said.

"I'll try, but he's probably in class right now."

"Please do."

Dan withdrew his Blackberry and called his brother. After a moment, he hung up. "He's not answering."

"Try again."

"What do you need him for?"

"I just had an idea, I need his expertise."

Dan raised an eyebrow and tried again. This time, after his moment, he left a snarling message that went something like, "Evan, you fucker, pick up. It's an emergency."

Within five minutes, he had called back.

"What do you want?" Evan asked testily. "We were discussing why Sam is the chief hero of _Lord of the Rings_."

"Doctor Crane has a question for you," Dan said impatiently, and he handed the Blackberry over to Crane.

"Evan, I'm so sorry I had to pull you away from your class," Crane said. "But I need to ask you a question."

"What is it?"

"What is that Shakespeare play where the guy gets dragged by a horse?"

There was a pregnant pause while Evan thought. "Well sir, I believe that's _Troilus & Cressida_. Hector is killed by Achilles and his warriors, and after he is dead, Achilles drags his body around the city walls by a horse. "

Crane smiled wide. "I knew it," he said softly.

"Knew what?"

"Oh, never mind."

"Just out of curiosity, why do you need to know now?"

"It's …" Crane searched for the proper word. "Complicated. But, thank you so much. You're a smart kid."

"Thank you, sir."

"Get back to class."

He heard Evan chortle before he hung up.

Crane handed the Blackberry back to Dan and couldn't help but smile. It was a tight lipped smile, one that poorly masked a sense of pride swelling up inside. It was the way the corners of his eyes wrinkled when he smiled that gave him away.

"You look veird ven you smile," Tatiana said, furrowing her brow. "Stop it."

"What was that all about?" Dan asked.

"Well, the Doctor here," Joker said, "has this crazy theory that the person who killed poor Miss Skinazzi here also has a fetish for murder and death, _a la_ Shakespeare. Apparently, it was your brother who put the idea into his head."

"God, that kid has a big mouth." Dan shook his head.

"No, I mean it." Tatiana repeated. "Stop smiling."

"So, Doc," Joker said. "Where you on the right track?"

Crane answered, "I think we could be onto something here."

* * *

Thank you to all the reviewers so far! But, like always, comments & constructive criticism are always appreciated!


	7. VII

_Hello! Sorry it took a while to upload a new chapter. I've been super busy at work, especially during this time of the year =S. I hope this new chapter was worth the wait!!_

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The inside of Maroni's house seemed much more vast than the outside would have let on. The room Crane, Tatiana, Joker & Dan now found themselves in was long and spacious, facing the river, with soft white walls and minimalist furniture. There was a chair here and there and a singular bookcase next to the glass desk where Maroni sat at, in a large leather chair. On the walls behind the desk were certificates, which Crane were positive were forgeries, as they apparently made Maroni one of the members of the Board of Trustees for CIGNA health insurance, as the company had offices in the city. Crane figured it was his cover.

Maroni was on the phone with someone. Tatiana had taken a seat on the nearest chair and was busying herself texting rapidly on her cell phone. The clicking of the buttons was sufficiently annoying. Joker was sitting in the other chair, looking bored. Dan was gazing out the window and was checking his Blackberry periodically for the time. Maroni was still on the phone when Evan Terrett quietly came in, looking confused.

"Evan, I'm glad you made it," Crane whispered.

"What's happening?"

"I don't know," Crane lied. "It keeps getting crazier by the second."

Maroni hung up. "Well, that was Meza," he said. "They're down at the funeral home, and by the looks of it, there are no signs of a forced entry or break-in. Apparently, they only noticed the body missing this morning." He paused.  
"They may be pro, but their rank and file are still merely street thugs."

"That doesn't really help us," Dan said.

Maroni nodded. "They're going to question everyone there."

"Can't dey see any security footage?" Tatiana asked.

"They wouldn't have security cameras in the funeral home, at least, not in the places like the mortuary or crematorium," Joker answered.

Dan nodded.

"Evan, you're here," Maroni said, finally taking notice of him. "Good."

"What do you need me for?" Evan asked.

Out of the corner of his eye, Crane saw Joker motion to him that he was going to leave. As swift and silent as a shadow, he was gone.

"Crane tells me you have much expertise in the area of Shakespeare," Maroni said. "I was hoping that you could help us protect ourselves by putting together a list of all the deaths in Shakespeare's plays. Can't be too careful, now," he said before Evan had a chance to question him.

"Well," Evan said, scratching his head, "you should probably be on the lookout for knives and ear poison, but I figure that always kinda … goes without saying, you know?"

Tatiana chortled.

"I'm busy with school and stuff a lot, though," Evan said. "I don't know how early I can get this made."

"I understand," Maroni said, "but as soon as ... humanely possible, would be ideal."

"I'll do my best, sir," Evan said.

Maroni then turned his attention to Crane. "Jonathan," he said. "How's it, er … how's the _research_ coming along?"

Crane caught on. "It's doing alright, sir. I've hit a bit of a roadblock however -"

Maroni gave him a look.

"However, he is going to come vork vith me tomorrow," Tatiana stepped in.

Crane sighed and for the first time, was grateful to have the Bulgarian around.

"Alright." Maroni sighed and checked his watch. "Great scot, look at the time! I have to be at a meeting at the hospital in half an hour! Gentlemen, I'm sorry, but I really must be off."

"No problem, sir," Dan said. Maroni dashed out of the room, followed much more casually by the group.

Crane put a hand on Evan's shoulder. "Hey kid, if you need help, gimme a shout, okay?"

"That's very generous of you," Evan said. "But …"

"But what?"

"There's something about this that doesn't make sense to me," Evan said. "I mean, this poor girl was just a simple pharmacist, right?"

Crane was puzzled for a moment. Then, he caught Dan's eye, who stared at him forcefully and nodded. Crane understood and felt abjectly sorry for the kid.

"Yeah," he said.

"Who would have a personal vendetta against the hospital?" Evan asked. "And who would take it this far? This just seems strange to me."

"It is for all of us," Crane said as the group exited the house.

"Hi Evan," Tatiana said as she walked up to the two men.

"Hey," he said. "I'm really sorry all of this has happened to your friend."

She was quiet for a second, then said, "yeah, it's awful."

"Did you work with her?"

"Kind of," Tatiana lied.

"Are you a pharmacist as well, or are you a doctor, or …. What do you do?"

Tatiana gave Crane a puzzled look, but evidently caught on and quickly said, "I vork as a naturopathic doctor."

"Oh, so you work with herbs and stuff."

"Yeah, like … marijuana."

"That's cool, I guess."

"Do you need some?"

"No, I don't smoke."

Crane could tell Tatiana looked a bit put out. But she quickly recovered and said, "oi. I'm hungry. Vanna go grab a bite?"

"Nah, I've got to get to my friends' place. He's having a party," Evan answered. He was quiet for a moment as well, but then his face lit up. "Maybe you would like to come with me? I can introduce you to a lot of cool people. I don't imagine you've had time for a lot of socializing. And I'm pretty sure Ziya has a Bulgarian friend as well. Maybe he'll be there."

Tatiana smiled coyly. "Sure, sounds like fun," she said. "Crane, I'm going vith dis guy."

"Yeah, I know that, I've been standing here this entire time."

She leaned in close to his ear. "Come to the apartment tomorrow. I'll show you how to make crystal," she whispered.

Before Crane could thank her, she walked off with Evan towards his silver car. He looked around for Joker and found him sitting in the back of the escort vehicle. Crane got in beside him.

"Where's the bitch?" Joker asked.

"She's going with Evan to a party," Crane answered. "Probably figures she can make a couple hundred bucks. But if his crowd are anything like him, I'd doubt it."

Joker chuckled. "I know what you mean. The kid defines innocent. Oh well, you know what they say," he said as the car sped off. "Ignorance is bliss."

"I dunno if I'd call him _ignorant_," Crane said. "I'd say naïve. He's a sharp kid, but lacking in street smarts. You know, his brother has got him thinking that the whole family is really a group that works for the hospital. Tatiana told him she was a naturopathic doctor."

"And in a way, she is."

Crane couldn't help but laugh.

"Remember how I told you that if Maroni gets smoked, Dan Terrett would be next in line to control the business?" Joker asked.

"Yeah, why?"

"Well, I've been thinking," Joker said. "I wouldn't put it past him to kill for power. The guy strikes me as a total sleaze bag."

"That's saying a lot, coming from you."

"Oh, and you're one to talk, _Scarecrow_," Joker snarled. "Before you start pointing fingers, make sure your own hands are clean."

Crane thought for a moment. "Your theory may be valid. There's nothing yet to disprove it. But one thing about that doesn't make sense to me. If you're correct and it is Dan, why would he have such an obvious M.O. that even his own brother could figure out? I imagine he'd be smarter than that. Besides, he doesn't strike me as an English literature buff."

"You never know," Joker said. "You get weirdos in every breed. Although I questioned that as well. What if he is trying to gain power whilst framing the Padovanni's for all of this? Two birds with one stone."

"But why would he start with just a drug dealer? Dan doesn't work with that kinda stuff. My understanding is that he works with selling organs on the black market."

"Maybe starting from the bottom and working his way up would be his pattern to throw off suspicion. They say Izzy was killed sometime in the early hours of the morning, right? That would give him ample time to kill her and clean up before anyone saw him."

Crane bit his lip. "You may be onto something here. But like you said earlier - I'd wait for the M.O."

"So would I," Joker agreed. "It's just something that has been on my mind. I don't trust the guy."

"I don't know if I trust him either," Crane said.

The escort car turned around a corner. "Let us off here," Crane said. The two didn't want to draw attention to the warehouse where they were staying - which was presumed empty and abandoned - so they made a habit of walking the few extra blocks for safety's sake.

The car had let them off beside an alley which was close to a nightclub. The addicts were out in full force tonight, and by the light of the streetlamps, Crane watched as a dirty shirtless man shot up right in the crook of his elbow. Crane shuddered. He was never a big fan of needles. _Trypanophobia - _fear of injections.

Joker was walking ahead of Crane fearlessly down the alley. The place reeked of stale piss and blood. There was a large garbage dumpster nearby and a rusted, abandoned car further down the alley. The back door to the nightclub opened up here, and Crane could hear the bass of the music thumping deeply. The two men were walking along in silence when they heard the door to the club open behind them. They wouldn't have given it a second thought, and kept on walking until they heard one of the men coming out of the club say, "fuckin' Maroni."

Joker and Crane dashed behind the dumpster and crouched. They heard the men say something inaudible; then the click of a lighter. Quietly, Crane reached inside his coat and pulled his Scarecrow mask over his face. He was glad he had decided to bring it with him today.

"I can't believe what they did with Izzy," one of the men said.

"What happened?"

"You guys didn't hear about this?" the other asked incredulously. There was a quiet moment where Crane assumed they were taking a drag. "Apparently, one of their guys broke into the crematorium and stole her body."

"What?! You're kidding!"

"Nope."

"Who the fuck do they think they are?" another one asked.

"How're Giamarri and Lorenzo doing?" said another, changing the subject after another silence.

Crane heard one of the men exhale. "Still in bad condition. Doc has no idea what got 'em. Says they're in a _minimally conscious state_, whatever the fuck that's supposed to mean. I think they might have OD'd and ended up in a nasty K-hole."

"K-holes don't usually last that long, though."

"I know. But, I have nothing else."

"Do they think they're ever gonna come out of it?"

"They dunno what to think. Worst comes to worst, we might hafta send them over to the funny farm."

"Poor guys."

One of the men took a sharp breath. "Let's go back in," he said. Crane and Joker waited for another moment until all was silent once more, and they shared a look.

The two men mulled over this development for the rest of night, barely catching a wink of sleep. Even so, as they made their way up to the Bulgarian's apartment around high noon the next day, they were bursting to tell her what they had overheard. Crane felt as if his skin would split open and it would all come flying out of him if he didn't tell her.

If it hadn't been for her bright hair, Tatiana would have been nearly unrecognizable. Her face was as bare as a nuns' and her hair was held up in a pink bandanna _a la_ Rose the Riveter. She had a few sunspots dotting her cheeks and nose. It was almost a shock to see her without makeup.

Her apartment was roomy and spacious and on the upper levels of the building. There was a wide glass window that offered a spectacular view of the city's designer skyline. The main room was almost empty, save for a kidney-shaped coffee table and a loveseat. The walls were the colour of champagne. The room opened up to the kitchen, which was also minimal in decoration; a coffee pot, CD player and a toaster on one shelf and a small circular table at the far end, with the pages of a fashion magazine opened up on it. There were numerous fans on everywhere throughout the apartment.

If one didn't know better, one would have never thought this was the home of a drug trafficker.

Tatiana led the men past a room opposite the bedroom. There were two long tables set up, with rows upon rows of plants growing in pots upon them, sitting under warming lights. At the far end of the hall was an unused bathroom, that was also very generous in space. There were a couple fans blowing air outside into the hall, with the door open. There were bottles of drain cleaner and driveway cleaner, a can of starting fluid and about a dozen Bezenedrex nasal inhalers. There were also two large eye droppers, ten small glass bowls, one large porcelain bowl, some coffee filters; one small jar with a top, a baking dish and a glass test tube. It looked as if she had already started because the glass jar had about three ounces of ether in it.

"So, what are you making here?"

"Meth," was her simple answer. "I mean, real crystal. This is the real shit that Hitler gave to his troops to make them fight for days on end."

The men nodded.

"I hear you're trying to put your fear toxin into a crystal form," Tatiana said to Crane. "I figured you vould already know, but since you evidently, do not, I vill show you. It's not hard."

"Chemistry isn't really my strongest suit," Crane said.

"Come on. Help me vith this stuff," Tatiana said. She instructed them to break open the inhalers and guided them through the process.

"So vat did you guys get up to last night?" she asked, putting on a pair of rubber gloves.

"We almost ran into the Padovanni's," Crane said.

"We heard some stuff," Joker added.

"Like vat?"

The two men shared a look, as to decide who would tell the story. Joker started and retold, in great detail, about what they had overheard, as well as his misgivings about Dan Terrett. Tatiana was silent throughout the story, although she was flitting around the bathroom busily. Crane only had to stop him once to add in an extra detail. When they were done their story, Tatiana remained silent. She pouted and bit her lip.

"So - what does this tell you?"

Tatiana pondered. "A lot of things, actually," she replied. "They obviously think that the _cosa nostra_ is behind this. Which means that Izzy must haff been doing business vith them as vell. Or else it vouldn't make sense. Remember how those two goons showed up at her place after ve arrived? And if they think that ve did it, then ve either haff a Stand Alone Complex at vork or a neutral third party that held a grudge against Izzy. It's also possible that one of the Padovanni's didn't know her, and simply may have gotten into a tumble vith her over a deal. Knowing their numbers, it's possible someone just didn't know she was an associate. The same could also be said for our people, although I'd like to think ve're all smarter than that."

"It's certainly not outside the realms of possibility," Crane agreed.

"A stand alone complex," Joker pondered. "You mean, a copycat?"

Tatiana nodded. "Although I'd place the probability of that low as vell. Usually, stand alone complexes involve similar but unrelated behaviour by unconnected individuals that creates a seemingly coordinated effort."

"So, a group like Anonymous would be a stand alone complex?" Crane asked. "Copycats without an original."

She nodded again. "But the likelihood that this crime has been done by separate individuals is unlikely as vell. My guess is that ve have someone outside the two family's who did this."

Crane agreed, although the thought of having another person to watch his back for was disconcerting.

"What about Dan?" Joker asked.

Tatiana thought for a second. "It's an interesting thought. I vouldn't put it past the guy. It would be a clever vay to not only get power but possibly eliminate his enemies in the Padovanni's. Truth be told, I don't know if I'd rather haff to vatch out for someone in our own Family or a stranger who could be anybody. Both ideas bug me. Here, gimme that bottle."

Joker passed her a bottle, and she poured the ether into it. She capped it and started shaking it. "How was the party last night?" Crane asked, changing the subject after an uncomfortable silence.

"Meh, it vos okay," Tatiana said.

"Were the kids nice?" Joker asked teasingly.

Tatiana shrugged.

"Did you make any friends?"

"Blondie was cool," she said. "I sold her a small bag of veed and ve smoked a bit in the garage. She has a pipe named Jafar. I only made about thirty bucks," she scowled. "Ve all - vell, except for Evan - got drunk and partied and listened to music." She paused for a moment. "Who is Davey Havok and vy is she so sad?" she asked.

Crane shook his head. "So Evan doesn't even have a drink at his own friends' party?"

"Nope," she said. "Kid is as straight as a board. He makes me feel like Mrs. Robinson, he's so goddamned innocent. Seriously, I feel like I should give him some cookies and milk and then ask him if he's ever seen a naked woman before."

That made the two laugh. "I know what you mean," Joker said. "You're a juvenile cougar."

Even Tatiana laughed. "It's a shame. He's kinda cute."

Joker laughed this time. "Aha! I see your ulterior motives."

"I'm not even going to dignify that vith an answer," Tatiana said. She stopped shaking the bottle. "Come," she said to Crane," now I'll show you how to make crystals." She led them into the kitchen and put the solution in the bottle onto a Pyrex dish and put it on the stove on low heat.

"This evaporates the vater and vot's left are the solidified chemicals," she told them. "You can see for yourself vith all kinds of mixtures - even salt vater."

"Ahh, I see," Crane said. "So then, it wouldn't work with a gas? Only a liquid."

Tatiana nodded. Joker was wandering throughout the apartment while Tatiana and Crane were waiting for the mixture to evaporate; and once he was sufficiently bored of the place, Joker resigned himself to the kitchen table closely.

"Vould you guys like something to drink?" Tatiana asked. "I have beer, vater, Stoli, etcetera."

"A beer would be fine," Crane said. She went over to the fridge and pulled out three cold bottles. She set one in front of Joker, who must have been excruciatingly bored, as he was now mindlessly flipping through the magazine. Tatiana chuckled at this. Joker closed the magazine.

"I don't need their smelly sex tips," he grumbled, opening the bottle and taking a swig.

Tatiana chortled. "I'm sorry it's so boring up here, but when I'm here, I'm usually vorking or sleeping. I spend most of my time out."

"How did you get this place, anyway?" Crane asked.

"Maroni knows the superintendent. He pulled a few strings for me," she answered as she took a sip.

"You get this castle in the sky and we get a fucking warehouse?" Joker asked. "What is this tomfoolery?"

"I'm special," Tatiana said with a smug smile. She then noticed that the solution was close to being almost completely gone. In the dish was now a small supply of colourless crystals.

"And that's how you do it," she said to Crane.

"Interesting. I'll definitely try this technique with my solution."

"Vell, I'm glad I could be of some assistance," Tatiana said. "Vanna try some? I don't like injecting because I think needles are icky, but I haff a few Yaa-baa pills somewhere we could ingest."

Crane looked at Joker. "I'm game," Joker said. "You?"

"Fuck it, sure," Crane replied after a moment. Tatiana got up and went into another room. They heard her shuffling round, mumbling something inaudible in Bulgarian before returning with three brightly coloured tablets. She put one tablet into each man's hand.

"Ready?" she asked, a pink pill sitting in her open palm. "On the count of three. _Edno_. _Dve_. _Treeh_!"

They threw their heads back and popped the pills in their mouths, chasing it with the beer.

"How long does it take to work?" Crane asked after a moment.

"About half an hour," Tatiana answered. "I'll put on some music." The CD player was behind her, so without looking, she turned it on and it started playing some Bulgarian dance music. While waiting for their high, Tatiana showed them her room dedicated to growing marijuana. She affectionately had named her own personal plant Bulbasaur.

"I gotta take a piss," Joker said.

"Second on the left," Tatiana said. She turned to Crane and laughed, supposedly for no reason. Her pupils had gone wide. She giggled and ran her fingers through his hair. The way her fingers pulled through his hair felt a thousand times better to him than usual. Her nails scratched gently against his scalp. The sensations were hyper real. Crane felt like a cat when he pushed his head into her nails.

"Your hair is so soft," she said to him.

"Your nails feel so good," Crane said. "It feels like - you know when you're get checked for head lice? It's like that but a million times better."

Tatiana giggled again. Her hand trailed down the side of his face and under his chin. She brought his face up and close to hers and swiftly kissed him. Crane didn't pull away. Her lips felt much more soft and pillowy then they actually were. He felt a heavy pelvic twinge and kissed her back. Tatiana pulled him closer to her and wrapped her arms over his shoulders. He could never hope to properly word what it felt like to him. It would be like trying to explain what blue is to a blind man, or what bird song is to a deaf man.

The two fell to the floor. At that moment, Joker emerged from the bathroom, took one look at the two and laughed. To him, the high was similar to a rush of caffeine. "I'm gonna go have my own fun, then," he said. He pulled his collar up around his face. "Have fun, kids," he said, and with that, he left.

The beers went lukewarm and flat as Tatiana and Crane got to know each other better on the floor.


	8. VIII

When Crane awoke, it took him an unusual amount of time to remember why he was sleeping naked on the floor.

Tatiana was no where to be seen, and neither was Joker. Crane felt dizzy and sweaty, and his mouth painfully dry. His clothes were thrown helter skelter across the floor of the den. He had no idea how long he had been asleep, but guessing from the darkness outside, it must have been hours upon hours. Despite this, all Crane felt like doing was going back to his warehouse and sleeping some more.

When he finally felt composed enough, Crane stood up and put his clothes back on, stumbling a few times throughout. He still smelt like sex, but he was more concerned about how he would make it back home. It was very chilly out. Crane wished he had something heavier than a blazer. Still feeling somewhat disoriented, Crane found a quiet spot in an alley nearby, closed his eyes and made a mental map of the city.

It was quite a walk, but without any cash on him, Crane had no other option. While it was the law to pay about $1.75 for the monorail, it was a law people stopped caring about years and years before; one of those laws where all the cool kids just do it anyway, like jay walking or walking between the subway cars. Besides, as far as Crane was concerned, $1.75 was far too much for the rickety old piece of shit.

When Crane arrived back at the warehouse, he collapsed onto the thin mattress on the floor. Feeling lethargic, he was looking forward to even more sleeping. When he heard running water, however, he groaned. Heavy footfalls entered the room. Joker chortled.

"Ugh, you simply reek of pussy," Joker said. Then he laughed, "so, how was it?"

"Piss off," Crane mumbled.

"Is Russian vag' all it's cracked up to be? "

"I'm not even going to dignify that with an answer. And where the hell did you fuck off to?" he asked, turning to Joker with heavy eyes.

"Well, I couldn't let you two have all the naughty fun," Joker laughed. Crane decided not to broach the subject. Joker was smiling deviously as he was wiping his knife down with a wet old cloth. Then, looking down at his lip, he noticed a spot of blood and wiped it away with the dirty rag. Crane cringed.

"What happened?" he asked.

"Oh, I took a bit of a dive when these black guys pulled a gun on me."

"Now, why is it important to tell me that the muggers were black?"

"They weren't muggers, they were cops."

"Then why didn't you just say they were cops?"

"You're racist for assuming they weren't cops."

Crane shook his head. "Piss off. I want to sleep."

"Yeah, I'm sure that fuck fest and six hour nap really tuckered you out."

Crane ignored him and put his head down, with a pillow set firmly over his right ear. He was going through the motions of making crystals in his head until he once again, fell back to sleep. He only once pondered what Tatiana was up to.

It was then nearly two in the afternoon when Crane finally awoke. The place seemed empty. Crane felt was feeling exponentially better than he had the night before. He indulged in a long, satisfying stretch and was thankful for a moment of solitude.

Crane bent down by the small black bag that held his possessions. A toothbrush, hairbrush, the last of a bar of soap … some other small extraneous objects, one last can of his toxin and, much to his dismay, only four of the fragile blue flowers where the main chemical of his toxin was extracted. He scowled; he knew he would have to ask Maroni for another shipment, but was hesitant about it. Crane was proud, and hated having to ask or rely on other people for things.

It was then that he heard banging around on the lower levels, followed by a low, _goddamit!_ Crane groaned. He was so getting used to a little bit of privacy. "Where were you?" he asked as he heard Joker coming up the stairwell.

"Extenuating circumstances," Joker simply replied. Crane knew that he could never hope to get an answer beyond that. "And, I've missed you too, sunshine," Joker said sarcastically.

Crane rolled his eyes and stood up. "You know, Dan and Evan got knifed last night," Joker said casually, rinsing his knife. It was as if he was saying something as simple as, "they have a cup of tea." It was somewhat disconcerting in it's tone.

"Are they alright?" Crane asked.

"They're fine," Joker answered. "It was the Padovanni's. Just a quick trip to the Hospital for some stitches, no biggie. Even though it was a three on two." Then, he laughed. "It's almost pathetic, really. Three on two, one of whom is functionally retarded. Honestly, guys."

"Why were they knifed?"

"I heard it from the Chechen. Word on the street is that one of the Padovanni's ladies went missing, and about a week before that, Dan was overheard shit talking her; something about her 'looking like a goddamn carrot' and 'her face is not a colouring book' and '_avant garde_ is what ugly people think they are to be different, but they're still just ugly'. You know, super classy stuff like that. So, _obviously_, it had to have been Danny. Or, that's what I assume that they assume. But whenever you assume, you make an ass out of you and me."

"Those guys fiend for street cred like addicts for pipes and needles," Crane said. "What else would you expect? Who else would they go after? I can only expect the shit storm to follow," he added as an afterthought.

"I'll protect you, muffin," Joker teased.

"Oh, shut up."

Joker laughed crudely.

"Did you run into Maroni when you talked to the Chechen?"

"No, but speaking of which," Joker said, "don't you figure we should tell Maroni about the, er … thing we heard the other night?"

Crane was mentally kicking himself. "Oi, why didn't we go to him first? So obvious … did you tell anyone else?"

"No."

And so, with that, Crane and Joker ran down to the nearest phone booth, a block and a half away, barely managing to come up with the twenty-five cents needed for a single call with all the loose change in heir pockets. After about five rings, Maroni finally answered.

"Hello?" he asked in a guarded voice.

"It's me, Crane."

"Oh! Hey, Doc. How's that research going?"

"Fine. Listen, there's something about this whole Izzy business that you need to know."

"What is it?"

"After we left your place the other day, Joker and I overheard some stuff."

"Where? From who?"

"The Padovanni's."

"And?"

The phone beeped. "Oh, for fuck's sake!" Crane barked. "No, not at you, sir, it's just the phone. I'm outta change."

"Tell me quickly."

"No, I can't." It was hard to hear over the obnoxious beeping.

"Well, I'ma be at the club in Little Azerbaijan tonight. Come and you can tell me there."

"Alright." Crane sighed and slammed the phone back on the hook. The two skulked back to the warehouse dejectedly, facing some more long hours of having little more to do than sit around and twiddle their thumbs. Then finally, at a quarter to one, the two left once more, but not after Joker reapplied his war paint. The club was a comfortable walk away from the warehouse. They passed by a couple of bulky guys in wife beaters who looked like they were itching for a fight - Joker was already placing bets on them.

The two entered through the alley entrance and, swimming through the thick crowd of people, made their way up to the upper levels, were Maroni was canoodling with a young, hot twenty something in a red satin dress. Stanislav was there, as was the Chechen and Dan, who was showing off the fresh sutures on his forearm.

"It's just a flesh wound," Dan joked, _a la_ Monty Python., complete with a poor British accent. "But I handled those clowns with only a couple punches," he then bragged. "It was nothing. It was like Godzilla versus Bambi."

Crane was liking the man less and less by the second. Joker was leaning over the railing, watching a fight down below. When Maroni finally pulled himself away from his mistress with a generous chest, he acknowledged Crane with an invite to sit next to him.

"Babe, would you mind?" Maroni said to the young lady. "This is business."

The young woman nodded and got up, pacing around aimlessly for a moment before she took a cozy seat beside Dan.

"So, what is it you wanted to tell me?" Maroni asked in a low voice.

"Well, me and the Joker," Crane said, beckoning the latter over, "overheard some stuff the other night."

"And are you sure it was the Padovanni's?"

"Positive," Crane answered. "They were talking about Izzy and some other guys in the Padovanni family."

"What did they say about Izzy?" Maroni asked earnestly.

"They were talking about her like she was an associate," Joker answered. "They were discussing about her body being stolen."

Maroni pursed his lips. It was quiet between them for a moment. "They think we were responsible for her death, sir," Crane said.

"No, I got that," Maroni said. He put a finger to his lips and thought again for another long moment. "Have you discussed this with anyone else?"

"Just Tatiana, yesterday, when we were doing, er, _research_," Crane answered. "She thinks there might be a stand-alone complex at work."

"That thought did cross my mind," Maroni said. "Could it also have been the Batman?"

"The Batman doesn't kill people," Joker said. "It's not his style. He refuses to kill out of some misplaced sense of self-righteousness."

Maroni was silent once more, a finger placed over his mouth while his eyes were downcast and glazed, deep in thought. Dan's phone then went off, a stupid ring tone that sounded like an 8-bit audio file from a video game from the nineteen-eighties. Crane scowled; it wasn't conducive to a productive mental attitude. "Hey Ev'," Dan said. "How's your arm feeling?"

Dan sat back, putting his feet up on the table and leaning back in his chair. He was smiling wide. "I can't understand a word you're saying, Evan. That Codeine has got you all messed up, huh?" he laughed.

He listened to the other end for a moment. Then, slowly, his expression grew more serious. "Wait, she was like who?" he asked. He furrowed his brow, and then asked, "and why would I give two-shits about some watery bint?" Then he groaned. "Oi. Look, I'll call you back in a sec', okay?"

Dan hung up and then tured to Maroni.

"What is it?" Maroni asked.

"Well, apparently some girls' body has just been found down by the river at the University … Evan said something along the lines of 'she was like Ophelia'."

At that moment, Gambol and another large man ascended the steps and strode over to Maroni with a sense of urgency on their faces.

"There's a bunch of guys outside who want to talk to you, sir," Gambol said.

"Padovanni's?" Maroni asked.

Gambol nodded. Dan and the Chechen stood up and withdrew their guns. Crane pulled out his Scarecrow mask. Joker let a sinister, excited grin slip over his face. Sighing, Maroni stood up, pulled out a pistol and led the group down the stairs to the alley. A gang of no less than ten men was waiting outside, vehement hostility etched into their faces. Scarecrow flexed his index finger on the spray button of his can of toxin.

"You bastard!" one of the men yelled, throwing a fist at Maroni.

"Woah, boys!" Maroni said, as he threw his head back, dodging the ill-aimed blow. "Listen -"

"You murdered my sister!" another one screamed. There was a click and then a flash accompanied with a gunshot. Through the small holes of his mask, Scarecrow saw Dan rush over to Maroni, shielding the older man and asking him if he was hurt.

"I'm fine, son," Maroni said. "They couldn't aim their way out of a wet paper bag."

Nevertheless, Dan urged Maroni to go back inside. He refused.

Scarecrow heard Joker cackle. Then, there was a terrifying yelp, and then a thud - followed by a shower of bullets. Scarecrow ducked, trying to crawl through the mob, his toxin held at the ready.

"Get back!" he shouted to Stanislav, but the man must not have heard him. There was a blast of a shotgun right by his ear. There was another yelp, although from which side Scarecrow couldn't tell. Finally, he gained some stability in the quickening crowd. He extended his long arms close to the face of a man he didn't recognize, assuming he was a Padovanni, and pressed down on the button.

White gas blast out of the can. It looked like the spray from a fire extinguisher - opaque and powdery. The man let out a ear splitting scream, falling back onto the ground.

"Get back!" roared Dan, over the screams of another strange man. The mob fell back, shielding their mouth with their blazers or hands. Two Padovanni men, watching their screaming comrades with horror, tripped as they ran back. One other man tried to run, but as the white cloud oscillated, fell forward with his hands over his eyes, shrieking in terror.

Watching their mates writhing and wailing on the ground, the remaining Padovanni men fled, leaving four of their partners behind. As the cloud dispersed, Joker had started kicking the men in their sides and heads, in an effort to get them to shut up. Scarecrow approached one of the men on the ground, watching him through the hot itchy mask.

He crouched down beside the man. "They scream and they cry," he said, "much as you are doing now."

Then he heard a sickly gulp. Scarecrow turned his heard towards Joker, standing over one of the men, his knife dripping with blood as the man lay dead and silent on the ground. Joker then made short work of the rest of them, slitting their throats followed by their mouths, ear to ear, in his trademark.

The two men stood silently side by side. Joker was wiping off his knife with the tails of his purple coat. Scarecrow was watching the end of the alley.

"You know, you saved them this time," he said. The Joker didn't reply.

* * *

R & R, constructive criticism greatly appreciated!


End file.
